It never fails to make itself known when you need it.
It’s the faith you receive when your mind has no answers and your heart starts putting up its shells.
It’s the voice which quietly says: It’s all ok, I have you in my plan.
It’s that invisible hug you allow yourself to feel; the one made of a mix of warm breezes and the whispers of trees.
It’s that captivating sunset letting you know that although you’re not really in control, life still has your back.
It’s the black crow that flies overhead, the feather that appears on your path and the butterfly that perches on your fingernail bed; all at just the right time.
It’s simply what makes sense when nothing else does.
As I stood watching the ocean foam form its large white blanket, the ever-changing waves appearing as if a patchwork of creases, I felt its presence.
It, is holy awe.
I arrived there feeling tainted by life, questioning my decisions, confused by my circumstances.
There the ocean called to me in its rage; the water crashing noisily at the rocks. The day earlier the same ocean had been still and serene; the sunrise magnificently glistening over it. The apparent instability of its movement being its one certain nature.
Holy awe is positive fear.
Holy awe is what I don’t understand, yet know I’m a part of.
Holy awe reminds me of my smallness, yet also invites me into my expansiveness.
It’s something I will never capture. It’s something I will never own. It’s something I will never see.
But if I just allow myself to, I can always feel it.
As a person who likes to solve problems with my mind, holy awe has proven exasperating.
As a person who needs to know when, why, how and with whom, holy awe has proven slippery.
As a person who likes words and conversations, holy awe has proven baffling in its language.
Yet as a person who wishes to yield to life, holy awe has proven to be my saviour.
The very one thing I can rely upon.
The very one thing I can surrender to.
The very one thing that is.